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Mr. Beckett took a step forward. “Maybe . . . maybe we should listen to Beck, Chelsea. He is older, after all.”

Mr. Beckett would have to be spanked, too. That was okay. She’d planned for that all along, but it made her feel better to know that Mr. Beckett deserved it.

“Mister Beckett is a spy,” Chelsea hissed. “So is Beck.”

Mr. Beckett’s face blanched. “No! No, Chelsea, we’re not spies.”

“Shut up, Dad,” Beck said.

Mr. Beckett looked at his son, then took a step back.

Beck smiled again. “G.o.d doesn’t want us to argue, little Chelsea,” he said. “We’re not spies, and we’re going to stay here.”

Chelsea smiled her sweetest smile. “You want to stay here? Okay, Beck. You can stay as long as you like.”

She took a quick, deep breath, then thought as hard as she could. Get them!

It was Beck’s turn to widen his eyes. Chelsea knew why. She was much, much stronger than he was. He hadn’t realized how much stronger, and now it was too late.

Daddy stepped up and kneed Mr. Beckett where it counts. Mr. Beckett let out a painful groaning noise and fell to the floor. Old Sam Collins ran up and kicked Mr. Beckett in the face over and over again as Daddy pulled a knife out of the knife drawer and fell on Mr. Beckett.

Kick, stab, kick, stab, kick, stab.

Mr. Beckett screamed, but that was okay.

Beck shook his head, as if he didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. He turned to run, but Mr. Roznowski tackled him from behind.

Chelsea heard Beck’s mental scream. Stop it! G.o.d, save me!

Chelsea, what are you doing?

Mr. Roznowski held Beck’s head on the linoleum floor and started kneeing him in the face. It made a weird crunching sound.

He was dangerous, Chauncey.

We need him. Stop this right now.

“You’re not the boss of me, Chauncey,” Chelsea said.

Beck still kicked a little after the third knee in his face. He twitched after the fourth. He stopped altogether after the fifth. Mr. Roznowski stood up. Beck’s face looked very funny.

Then Daddy stood, covered in Mr. Beckett’s blood. Old Sam Collins was limping. Looked like he’d hurt his foot kicking Mr. Beckett in the face.

Chelsea, I am G.o.d, you must obey me.

She shook her head. I’m a big girl now, Chauncey. Beck was dangerous. It’s for the best. Someday, you’ll understand.

That was a lie, of course. Beck wasn’t dangerous, but Chauncey might have loved Beck more than her. Chauncey was Chelsea’s special friend. With Beck gone it would stay that way forever and ever.

“Okay, everybody,” Chelsea said. “Time to go play at Mister Jenkins’s house. Someone make two trips so we can get rid of Mister Beckett’s car.

Mommy, you can take me in a snowmobile. Daddy, you clean up here and then come over on a snowmobile, too, okay?”

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